“Lucky him,” Riven muttered.
They went over the plan in efficient detail—there wasn’t much to tell. Lareth’s crew had gotten noisy. Too many deals, too fast. They were either expanding or unraveling. Either way, Caerel said, “We use it. If they’re desperate, they’ll need fresh hands. You were seen with them before. That gives us an edge.”
Riven nodded slowly. The hollow anxiety in his chest settled into something harder.
They geared up quickly, and by the time they were moving, dusk had settled over the windshield of the unmarked car. As they drove through the narrow switchback roads of the upper city, Riven stared out the window, jaw tight.
“Still tender?” Caerel asked from the front passenger seat, not looking back.
Riven blinked. “What?”
“From the last time you got fucked.”
The comment was flippant, but not cruel. Riven didn’t answer. Caerel didn’t push.
Instead, he said, “You need to get your head on straight before we arrive. This isn’t some dramatic episode between lovers. It’s a mission. If you get made before we find the source, all this effort will have been for nothing.”
Riven didn’t argue. He stared out the window again. His thoughts turned back to the estate—the window where he’d seen Thane watching him from the shadows. He hated the way his gut had clenched at the sight, hated more that he’d wanted Thane to stop him. To follow. To say something other than what he had.
You’re just a pet who doesn’t listen.
Riven’s hands curled into fists in his lap.
They crossed into the Seam just as full dark settled over Atlantis, though the district was always dim, always shadowed by towers and half-collapsed overhangs. As they neared The Ember Gate, Caerel turned in his seat and faced Riven.
“If Lareth’s there, and he asks too many questions —”
“I know how to handle this,” Riven interrupted. “Done this before, you know.”
Caerel produced a small syringe. Riven eyed it warily, having never been a fan of needles. “What’s this?”
“It’s something we whipped up. It can counter the effects of Soulglass if administered. Works fairly quickly, too. The problem, of course, is staying alive long enough to use it.”
Riven took the syringe and its little concealable case, eyes flickering with doubt. “How will I get this past their scans?”
Carrel waved a hand. “Case blocks the wards, so it’s safe.”
“I’m ready,” Riven said after bending and straightening his arm a few times.
Caerel’s mouth quirked. “It’s not just about impressing the Matriarch. Pull this off, and you’ll be useful, not just a mouthy favor Thane dragged in off the street.”
Riven tilted his head. “Is that what people think?”
“It’s what peoplesay,” Caerel replied. “Prove them wrong.”
The car slid to a stop half a block from the club. The Ember Gate loomed in the distance, neon curves and cracked-glass windows. Even in the daylight, the place pulsed. Music thudded faintly beneath the surface of the street like a second heartbeat. The building was tall and narrow, painted black with crimson lighting streaking up the side like capillaries. The entrance was hidden beneath a flickering sign—EMBER—where a lean bouncer lounged beside a curtained doorway.
Riven took several slow breaths. Then he stepped out of the car and into the Seam.
The air down here always carried the tang of copper and rot, but now it was cut with wet pavement, static, the ozone-charged thrum of magic used too carelessly. People moved like shadows through the alleys, slipping between puddles and headlights, eyes down, thoughts tucked away. Riven knew how to walk here—how not to be seen unless he wanted to be. It came back to him easy.
He kept his hands in his pockets as he approached the familiar streets near The Ember Gate. His heart beat too fast, but he didn’t let that show. He couldn’t afford it.
It had been a week since he’d last stood here. A week of simmering tension, pain that never quite turned to scar. A week since Thane had touched him like he meant it and then walked away like he didn’t.
He hadn’t come here for Thane. Not technically. He was here for the mission—information, infiltration, exposure. That was the story he told Caerel, and it was true. Mostly. But there was another truth buried under it, quieter and meaner. He wanted answers, yes. But more than that, he wanted to fix something. For Thane. Because Thane had been unraveling lately, and maybe if Riven could peel back the mask the Hollow Hand wore, it would give Thane a reason to trust Riven again.
Not that he would say that out loud. Gods, no.
